


Mirror, Mirror

by obsidienne



Series: The Vulcan Heart [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Soul Bond, T'hy'la, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14165202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidienne/pseuds/obsidienne
Summary: Intellectually, Jim knows there are two Spocks. It’s a bit complicated, though, when they’re both in the same room.





	Mirror, Mirror

 

~K/S~

**Part One: Enterprise, Riverside Shipyard**

“Uh, Captain?”

Jim twists around but it’s impossible to see anything except Hendorff’s feet from where he’s jimmied himself inside a bulkhead. “Yeah?” It’s not much more than a grunt.

“There’s… someone here to see you, sir.”

“Does this someone have a name?” Jim swipes at the sweat on his brow and waits impatiently for an answer.

“It’s… Captain, I think you’ll want to come out here.”

With an enormous, irritated sigh, Jim tosses his decoupler to the side and uses his palms to scrabble, feet-first from the depths of the bulkhead. “You know, Cupcake,” he says with only half the scowl meant, “mysterious really isn’t—” He breaks off when he sees who’s standing next to his security guard.

A huge grin splits his face and he’s scrambling up. “Spock!” He laughs, shakes his head and wraps his arms around his torso to stop himself from throwing his arms around the amused Vulcan standing in front of him. “I mean, Ambassador.” He shakes his head, trying to wrap his brain around this; the incongruity. He hasn’t spoken to this Spock since before he and _his_ Spock got together, and— He shuts his ticking brain off, grins again and asks, “How are you? Man, it’s good to see you.”

“I am well, Jim,” the Ambassador says, and it’s even weirder. He has that same glint of warmth in his eyes that Jim’s Spock has, but that’s normally only in private and this Spock’s lips even quirk up a little and _god_ , his own Spock’s lips only do that when they’re both naked, or about to be—

“Sorry, what?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound quite as stupid and breathless, and _confused_ as he feels. The ambassador was saying something and he wasn’t even listening.

“I wished to ascertain the status of your own health,” he says, his deep voice not helping Jim’s disorientation in the least. “An illogical desire, as I was assured by both my father and your own Spock that you are in good health once more.”

It’s only been two weeks since Jim’s revival from the dead. And it strikes something strange in his chest to realize this Spock was worried about him. “You talked to Spock?”

This Spock’s grey eyebrows rise. He answers though with equanimity, “Indeed. My intention was to speak with you. You were still in the medically-induced coma, however.”

Jim tilts his head with a wondering smile. “Did you come all the way here just to check on me?”

The skin around Spock’s eyes crinkles, and Jim wonders randomly when his Spock’s face will start to do that. “It was the primary reason, yes.”

“Oh, well that’s…” Jim smiles, stuffs hands into his pockets. “Anyway, yeah, I’m great.” And then he realizes that Hendorff is still standing there, looking confused and deeply, _inappropriately_ amused. He straightens his expression when he catches Jim’s eye. “That will be all, Ensign,” Jim says, maybe a little too pointedly.

Hendorff gets the message, snaps out a crisp, “Aye, sir,” and returns to the group of crewmen sorting through debris. Jim returns his attention to the ambassador.

“So… Do you have time to… uh, did you want to catch up, because that would be amazing.” He sounds like an idiot, but this Spock is just as clueless as his own.

“I must board a shuttle in one hour and five minutes,” he says.

“Oh.” Jim swallows back the unexpected disappointment and smiles. “I’ll walk you to your shuttle,” he says like it’s a question, and he thinks he should probably start to wonder why he’s fumbling around like a teenager with the universe’s biggest crush. He rubs his hands together, ignores the strange ache to touch. “Where are you going?” he asks as they turn, Spock falling in step beside him.

He’s dimly aware of the looks he’s getting from the repair crews, but he ignores them to focus on Spock’s answer, “The Romulans have finally agreed to discuss the supernova which will destroy their planet.”

“Really? Wow,” Jim says, grinning. “That’s great.”

“Unfortunately, the odds that they will believe me are quite low.”

Jim smiles sidelong at him. “Quite low, eh? No specific percentages?”

“It amused you when I chose broader terms in our later years. It is a habit I have not yet broken.” There is a smile in his eyes, but Jim can sense the thread of sadness—which is… He shouldn’t be able to feel emotions, but that’s what this is. He can _feel_ Spock’s grief. Jim brushes his hand before he can stop himself and then is immediately mortified.

Spock stops walking, and Jim yanks his hand away, heat searing his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I didn’t mean—”

“There is no need to apologize, Jim,” the graveled voice is filled with pain now; the brown eyes bright as he searches Jim’s face. He raises his hand, palm out. “Will you indulge me?”

Jim stares at him, his throat tightening as he realizes what he’s asking for. Another meld, something he’s only shared with this Spock. That had been a crazy experience the first time, painful and awful. Perfect too, in ways he can’t really explain.

He finds himself nodding before he fully considers why he shouldn’t. The familiar fingers settle against his face, and Spock sighs, a sound so identical to the one Jim’s Spock makes when he kisses that one spot beneath his ear that Jim’s heart begins to race.

There are no memories this time, just welcome warmth that feels acutely, and falsely, familiar. It curls around him, surrounding him and it’s just like when his own Spock touches him. Almost. There’s something deeper here, more fulfilling.

He wants it.

Before the desire to steal it is fully formed, he’s back in his head; cold and bereft, blinking back tears and gasping for breath.

Spock’s eyes are dark and full of turmoil as the wrinkled hand falls away. “I did not realize you and my counterpart had already realized the nature of your connection,” he says quietly.

“Is that…” Jim swallows, has to look away for a minute, even though there’s no reason his insides should ache. “You can read me so easily?”

“Forgive me,” Spock murmurs. “I did not intend to intrude.”

“No, it’s all right,” Jim says quickly. And it really is. He can’t find any offense that his mind’s been read, even though it’s clear from Spock’s expression that he should. “I’m sorry, this has to be really hard—”

Spock reaches toward his face, but his fingers curl away before he makes contact. “Please do not apologize, ashayam.”

Jim swallows, and has to quell the urge to apologize for the apology. There is pain in Spock’s face, grief that echoes in Jim’s own chest. “Can I do anything?”

The dark eyes soften, and Jim can see his fingers twitch before they tighten at his side. “I do not believe my counterpart would forgive my indulgence.”

Jim blinks at that, swallows hard when he realizes what this Spock means; what he wants. Spock smiles a little, without happiness. “Nearly thirteen years passed in friendship before you and I...”

Jim touches his hand, wants to take the pain from his voice. Spock breathes deeply, brings Jim’s hand to his lips. “I have been,” he whispers “and always will be yours.”

Tears block Jim’s throat when Spock releases him. This isn’t how this is meant to go. He and Spock… _we’re already together_. And Spock isn’t supposed to be sad. “Spock, I—”

“There is nothing to forgive, Jim,” Spock assures him, even though there’s no tangible way for him to recognize the guilt squeezing Jim’s chest. “I will understand should you wish to part here.”

“No,” Jim says quickly. He stuffs his fists into his armpits again, smiles. “Let me walk you to your shuttle.”

Spock inclines his head. “I am amenable.”

Jim can’t help but smile at the familiar phrase, but before he can think of something to say, he’s interrupted by footsteps farther down the corridor. They turn together and Jim’s stomach immediately clenches; although that makes no sense either. It’s Spock, _his_ Spock.

“Hey,” he says, pretending his voice doesn’t warble so he doesn’t clear it. His Spock looks between them, a furrow materializing between his eyes but only briefly before his features smooth to blankness.

“Ambassador,” he says, eyebrows lifting in greeting. “I was unaware you intended to visit.”

The elder Spock’s eyebrows match their darker counterparts. “I was uncertain if my schedule would allow it.”

“How long do you intend to remain?”

“I must report to my shuttle in fifty-nine minutes.”

“I was just going to escort him,” Jim interjects and receives two sets of identically studious eyes aimed at him. His own Spock’s narrow minutely, and Jim tries not to shift; smiles. “Join us?”

“I am scheduled to meet with Admiral Komack at 1300 hours,” is the bland reply. “As are you, Captain.” Okay, so that was a more pointed than bland.

Jim shrugs though. “This won’t take long.” He turns to the elder Spock. “Ready?”

The wrinkled chin dips. “Indeed.”

“Great. Well, uh—” A darted glance between the Spocks, but Jim can’t quite think quickly enough to finish the thought.

“I will meet you in our apartment,” his Spock intervenes, and if Jim didn’t know better he would say there was no underlying tension in his voice.

He’s about to protest, but the Spocks seems to be having a silent conversation with their eyes, and Jim wonders at that; how easy is it to read your own mind when it’s in someone else’s head?

The elder Spock’s gaze falls on Jim once more, and the reserve lifts. His face softens enough for Jim to know his own Spock won’t like it before the elder Spock says simply, “Jim?”

“Uh…” Impulsively, Jim says to his Spock, “You should come. We’ll have enough time.”

“If you wish.”

And god it’s weird the way both Spocks fall in step with him, one at each shoulder; a peculiar Vulcan sandwich.

It’s only a short walk to the shipyard’s transporter, which takes them directly to orbital station two. The elder Spock speaks with his pilot, a young Vulcan woman. They exchange words in Golic before she enters the shuttle.

“So…” Jim falters as soon as Spock looks at him.

“There is no need to grieve.” Brown eyes study Jim’s Spock. “I am gratified that you will have what you need.”

Jim tries to smile when the elder Spock turns back to him, fails spectacularly. “How long will you be gone?”

“I cannot estimate.”

“Oh. Well…” Jim shifts. “Will you… stop here on your way back?”

“I do not believe that would be wise,” Spock says, and a small smile quirks his lips. A hesitation then, his head tilting. He looks like he wants to ask something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds up a hand, palm out. “Peace and long life, ashaya.”

Jim echoes the gesture, but it’s too hard to find words. Spock’s smile is distinctly sadder as he turns to his counterpart. The look passed between them holds a weight Jim doesn’t understand. The elder Spock turns away after another quick glance at Jim.

They watch him until he turns the corner, and even then Jim doesn’t know what to say. Guilt is still making his chest tight, which is—is it ridiculous? He turns his head slowly, hand kneading at his neck before he realizes that’s just a tell for the guilt he’s not sure he’s supposed to feel. Spock meets his gaze, lifts his eyebrows as if he knows Jim wants to say something—which, he probably does. Jim smiles a little. “That was… um, it was weird, right?”

“His presence here was unexpected.”

Unsure if that’s an agreement, Jim nods, drops his hand. “Yeah. We should go then. Komack probably expects us in our finery.”

“Indeed.” Spock’s gaze is too studious now, but when Jim turns, so does he and they walk together down the corridor. Jim greets various people he recognizes as they pass, but it’s mostly just silence and by the time they’re transported back to San Francisco, the tension feels explosive.

“Why didn’t you tell me he contacted me while I was still in the coma?” he finally asks.

They’re outside the doors to Spock’s—too soon to think of it as their—apartment. Spock applies his handprint to the scanner and steps back to allow Jim to go first. Once the doors swish behind them, he replies, “It did not seem pertinent.”

“Oh.” Frowning, Jim’s not sure what else to say to that. He wonders if that’s really the whole truth, but he doesn’t think Spock would lie, so he lets it go. “He came to see if I was all right.”

“An illogical use of resources.” When Jim raises surprised eyebrows, Spock elaborates, “He could have contacted you.”

“He’s on his way to Romulus, so…” Jim shrugs. “I think he needed face to face confirmation, to be honest. He was pretty…” Shaken up? Needy? But not in the same way that this Spock is. It was more obvious, raw somehow. And Jim still wants to soothe it away. “His Kirk…” Fuck it, this is the weirdest conversation he’s ever had. “… he hasn’t been dead that long.” Only half a year before the elder Spock arrived here.

“He is grieving the loss of his mate,” Spock agrees quietly. There is matching grief in his eyes, and even though that makes no sense either, Jim doesn’t hesitate this time, stepping close to put his arms around him; Spock reciprocates immediately.

For the first time, he wants to feel Spock’s mind, wants to know every bit of him. He knows it’s not possible yet, but the absence now is an ache. “Why is it different?” he asks. “From other Vulcan bonds? Is it?”

Spock’s hands run up and down his back, finally coming to rest at the back of his head and Jim knows he’s restraining the urge to find the meld points; it’s always like that, which is why the elder Spock couldn’t contain himself. After more than a century of this.

“The bond our counterparts shared is profoundly different than the one my parents shared.”

“How so?”

“My counterpart found it more difficult than I did to accept that it existed,” Spock explains. “Our experiences diverged due to Nero’s incursion.”

“Uh… not sure what that means…” Spock’s lips are currently resting against his forehead and it would be nice to focus solely on that, or the way Spock is inhaling deeply, his fingers pressing as if in proclamation that he’s not allowed to leave.

“The t’hy’la bond was first recorded by Surak, who experienced it with an enemy of his clan. It is unbreakable, and generally experienced between two male warriors. It exists from birth, or so it is believed. When Surak and his mate touched one another, the urge to fight was replaced by a need neither one could explain. They copulated on the forge rather than spilling one another’s blood. It is said to happen this way for all who share such a bond.”

“But… that’s not what happened to us.” Jim would like to pull away, because this seems like the sort of conversation where he needs to see Spock’s face.

“I did not recognize it. We are not taught, as children, to recognize a bond between telsu. My relationship with Nyota likely clouded my judgment as well.”

Jim makes a face even though Spock can’t see it.

“It was not until I knew I would lose you that I understood. Although,” Spock admits quietly, “I recognize now that my loyalties had already shifted.”

Well, that’s a little better, anyway. Jim shifts so that he can take Spock’s face and kiss him. “I didn’t recognize it.”

“You did not have an explanation for your feelings,” Spock corrects. Good point. Jim sighs.

“So, for your parents…”

“A telepathic bond is forged deliberately.”

Okay. Jim’s not sure about any of this, especially since it doesn’t really matter in their case because Spock can’t meld with anyone after Nero destroyed so much. “So, you’re thinking this type of bond transcends universes?”

“Affirmative.”

All right. Jim can get on board with that. And it possibly explains why Jim wanted to burrow into the other Spock’s head. Maybe. “I wish there was something we could do for him.”

Spock doesn’t answer immediately. “The only method to relieve his grief would be to offer yourself to him.”

Jim pulls back. “ _What?_ ” Spock seriously did not just say that. Except he did, and his whole body is stiff with unease.

“After our initial kiss.” He hesitates. “I explained that it is illogical to be jealous of myself, and although I cannot imply such emotions do not exist, I recognize your desire to—”

“Whoa. No. Seriously, that’s…” Jim shakes his head, rakes a hand through his hair and comes up with nothing. “Look, he melded with me and yeah,” he adds with a grimace when Spock’s expression shifts to blankness, “exactly. I’m not going to offer myself to him, which is…” He’s not sure what it is, but it’s not good. “He backed off as soon as he saw that we’re together. He was surprised, and yes, he’s you, but no, not a great suggestion, Spock.”

He’s glaring now, arms folded over his chest and he doesn’t really know why. Spock, on the other hand, looks chastised. Which means his irritation is justified. And that doesn’t make him feel better at all. His insides are knots of guilt. He tries a smile, but it’s probably more grimace. “We have to meet Komack and I need a shower.”

Spock grips his arm lightly as he turns away. “Jim.”

Jim allows himself to be turned back. Spock’s dark eyes are turbulent, almost an exact match to his counterpart’s now.

“It was not my intention to offend you.”

“It’s fine.” It’s really not, but if there’s one thing Jim’s learned it’s that saying so is never to his advantage.

“Jim, I would prefer—”

“Seriously, Spock, it’s fine.” He gives him a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom, aiming a bright smile over his shoulder as he goes. “I’ll be quick.”

Unsurprisingly, Spock is quicker. His apartment has two bathrooms, and by the time Jim steps into the bedroom, a towel around his waist and freshly shaved, Spock is already completely dressed, shoes shining and not a hair out of place.

“How do you do that?” Jim asks, smiling as he heads to the closet, where his clothes now reside next to Spock’s—still weirds him out.

“To what do you refer?”

Jim shakes his head, pulls an undershirt on. It sticks to him in patches. “Never mind. I’ll hurry.”

“It is not necessary to leave for another eight point two minutes.”

“Well, hell, then, I’ll take my time,” Jim says, smirking. Spock furrows his eyebrows and doesn’t reply. At least not to that.

“May we return to our discussion regarding my counterpart?” he asks. Jim refuses to sigh, shrugs instead.

“If you want.”

“It was not my intention to offend you.”

“You said that already,” Jim points out as he shimmies into his shorts, followed a bit more sedately with his dress pants; doesn’t want to lose the creases.

“As I do not wish to offend you again, I would ask you to explain my error.” He sounds so calm, and Jim feels a moment of envy.

“I don’t know.” Rubs at his neck again and then realizes he needs to get dressed and shrugs into his shirt. “Monogamy remember?” Jim prompts, keeping his voice light. Always better, don’t show you’re upset. Because he’s not upset. Spock just doesn’t see things the same way; he’s just being logical and Jim feels like shit for letting his counterpart meld with him. “You don’t want to be with anyone else, do you?”

“Negative.” And there’s a small frown, and it’s probably petty of Jim to be happy about that.

“So, hey, there you go. Same.” He gives his tunic a tug. “Ready?”

“You are not yet wearing shoes.”

“Right.” Jim looks around. “Where are my shoes?”

Spock retrieves them from the closet, where it makes perfect sense they should be. Jim smiles. “It’s handy having you for a roommate. Bones never kept track of my things.”

“I will endeavor to ensure your belongings are stored logically.”

Jim can’t help but laugh at that. “I was kidding.”

Spock’s eyes are glinting though, with that subdued humor he doesn’t seem to have with anyone else. It’s a bit smug, really. “As was I,” he says. He steps in then, cradles Jim’s face, breathes deeply while his fingers and lips linger. His touch is light, but Jim can feel the power behind his grip, the restraint.

He put his hands over Spock’s, and he can feel the tension there too. “You all right?”

There is a hum, which is probably meant to be assent. His lips are busy though, pressing into his cheekbone, his jaw. He has this thing, Jim thinks, about apologizing, and really Jim’s not sure what to make of it. It also makes it impossible to retain any sort of annoyance. So he brushes his thumbs over his new roommate’s—and maybe that’s not _so_ weird—and says, “Hey.” The quiet word brings Spock’s eyes forward, and it’s easy then to turn his face at a better angle; just right to take a kiss.

Which Spock allows, because he’s surprisingly agreeable like this, to anything Jim wants really. He knows it’s leftover anxiety after Khan. It has to shift eventually, and Spock will be different, more rigid. But for now… “We’re good then?” Jim finally manages, and it’s not entirely surprising that his voice is scratchy; wishes it wasn’t though.

Spock pulls back slightly. “Good?”

He sounds so confused, Jim can’t help but huff a laugh. He gives his hands a reassuring squeeze. “You know, not upset. I’m not upset.” It’s not really true, but close enough. He waves vaguely, as if Spock will just _know_ that’s code for, _How about you?_

Spock tilts his head a little as he processes. “As I understand the term, I am not upset either,” he finally says solemnly. “I would prefer, however, that you not meld with my counterpart again.”

“I won’t. He didn’t realize we were…” Another vague gesture, and this time some of the tension drains from Spock’s shoulders. So maybe the touching before had more to do with that than the apology. “I’m sorry.”

Spock’s first two fingers brush over the meld points. “You wished to ease his grief,” he murmurs, although Jim has no idea how he knows that. “I can find no fault in your actions.” This is not usually how arguments go, not that Jim is well versed in them with significant others. “We are, as you say, good.”

He doesn’t know what to say so he falls back on what he’s good at, smiles a little. “You sure we have to meet with Komack? I can think of better ways to spend the afternoon.”

Spock’s hand falls away after a final caress. He arches an eyebrow. “If you refer to sexual activities, then I agree I would find it preferable. Perhaps when we return?”

“Definitely.” Jim leans in, kisses him lightly. This is more like it. “Sexual activities. Me and you, all afternoon. Now, come on, you’re making us late.”

Spock opens his mouth, indignation pinching his eyebrows, but Jim only smiles, tosses Spock’s hat to him. His first takes it with great dignity, tucks it under his arm and leads the way out of the room. Jim flips his own hat from its place on the closet shelf and follows after.

**Part Two: Earth Orbital Station One, five months later**

Spock’s gaze is purely indulgent as Jim presses his nose against the transparent aluminum in the station’s main observation deck. Anyone else looking at Spock would just see a neutral expression, but after sixth months, Jim can tell. It makes him grin wider.

“I can’t wait,” he breathes fog across the surface. Since he can’t shake _Spock_ —he can just imagine the look he’d get for that—he grabs Bones instead, standing on his other side, to jostle him sharply. “Do you see her?”

“Your big head’s in the way.”

Jim nudges his ribs, still grinning. His grin widens as Carol, on the other side of Bones, grips his hand and Jim sees his friend gripping back. He feels manic. Which is exactly how he should be feeling, as they wait for the Enterprise to be tugged into the dock. She’s finally ready for some test runs, to be turned _on_ again.

“I can’t wai-ait,” he sing-songs under his breath, and then glances over in surprise when Spock’s fingers perch across the back of his neck. He thinks Spock is trying to settle him, but then he sees the _gleam_ in his first officer’s eyes and knows he’s just as excited.   Further proof when Spock squeezes gently, but doesn’t let go. Jim grins at him before he turns back to watch the busy space dock. “How’re you doing, Scotty?”

His engineer is too busy hyperventilating on the other side of Spock to answer. His ever-present shadow Keenser is pressed full-body against the window. Sulu and Chekov, along with what seems like most of engineering and sciences—half the crew, probably—stretch along the rest of the window. All of them look just as excited as Jim feels.

This is the first time so many of his crew has been together. Almost all of his old crew is here. And with that realization, some of Jim’s excitement drains. Seventy-eight not here, will never get to see the Enterprise again.

He swallows through the sudden heat in his throat. Because Spock can feel his emotions—sometimes it seems like he knows everything—the fingers at the base of his neck press in a little, the warm pad of Spock’s thumb making small circles. Jim swallows again, reaches out to brush the side of his first officer’s uniform tunic. He can feel the soft contentment at that small gesture and he relaxes a little too; smiles when McCoy’s reflection catches his eye.

He gives a wide-eyed glance to his friend’s hand, intertwined with Carol’s and gets a deep scowl in return. Better. Jim smiles to himself and turns his attention back to the window.

Just in time too. The two shuttlecraft charged with bringing in the Enterprise are just coming into view. Jim holds his breath, presses his nose a little closer to the panel; feels the pressure of Spock’s warm fingers and can hardly keep from chortling with excitement.

He grins though when Scotty makes a noise that is almost a whimper as the nacelles come into view. It’s better than the first time he saw her, light years better than the second.

He’s moved closer to Spock without realizing, their sides brushing. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he mutters.  

“The backdrop of the stars does add an element of appeal to the ship’s aesthetics,” Spock agrees.

“It’s because it’s home.” Jim can feel Spock’s gaze. He glances over, finds his first officer’s contemplative face. But there is no comment on Jim’s sentimentality; just an unexpected softening of the dark eyes before Spock returns his gaze to the window. “Better, Scotty?” Jim asks across his first officer’s back.

“Aye, sir…”

“And just another few weeks and we’ll be doing test runs.”

Scotty’s reflection is the definition of bliss. Grinning anew, Jim keeps his eyes fixed on his ship, watching in satisfaction as she finds her berth. Seriously, there has never been a more gorgeous ship. It’s even better when the ship is docked, and the crowd starts to break up, leaving the bridge crew—and Scotty and Keenser, of course.

“When can we get aboard, Captain?” the engineer asks eagerly.

“Tomorrow, oh six hundred.” It’s been repeated at least a dozen times.

“Maybe if we—”

“The scheduled is unable to be altered,” Spock interjects. “I suggest you practice patience, Mr. Scott.”

Scotty sighs. “Aye, sir.” But neither he nor Keenser leave the window.

McCoy nudges Jim’s ribs. “You still up for dinner?”

It’s a weekly ritual; one of Jim’s favorites these days. “We’ll be there. Nineteen hundred?”

“And not a second later,” Carol chimes in with a teasing smile.

“Spock wouldn’t dream of it,” McCoy assures her.

“Vulcans do not dream,” Spock says, and Jim smiles as Carol tries not to laugh while McCoy scowls.

“Do you have to be so literal?”

“Perhaps you should endeavor to speak more precisely, Doctor.”

Carol tugs at Bones before he can retort. He sighs and allows himself to be pulled away. Jim smiles after them. His own commentary on his friend’s current satisfaction with life is interrupted by his PADD announcing a message. Thinking it’s probably from Komack—more schedule changes—Jim brings the message up, only to blink in surprise when he sees the sender.

“Is something the matter, Captain?”

Jim glances up at Spock, shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’s from… your counterpart.”

“Indeed? Has he completed his task?”

Already reading the message, Jim nods. “He finished a few weeks ago… Doesn’t say if it was successful though…” Jim trails off again, his eyes fastened to the words; he reads them again but it doesn’t help.

“Captain?”

Jim finally drags his eyes up at Spock’s prompt. “It’s…” He realizes then that Scotty and Keenser are still plastered to the window; Chekov and Sulu haven’t left either.

Frowning, Jim jerks his head toward the door to the private viewport. Spock falls in behind him, and once the door is closed behind them, Jim wordlessly passes his PADD over. He stares at the Enterprise, at the crew in full spacesuits as they putter around the hull.

“What does that mean?” he finally asks, when he knows Spock has had enough time to read it twice through, and if his voice shakes, well who the hell can blame him?

“I am uncertain.”

Jim looks over at him, suspicious. “But you have an idea?”

Spock doesn’t immediately answer, which only makes the weight heavier in Jim’s chest.

“Spock.”

“I believe our counterparts travelled across dimensions more than once—”

Jim’s impatient gesture cuts him off. “I got that.” _I no longer wish to be here alone_ , are the exact words. “But how can he? And where is he going anyway?”

“As we discussed, there are other James Kirks.” Spock says calmly—and why does he always have to be so calm?

“And a Spock for each one, so what is he going to do?”

“I cannot speculate, except perhaps he is aware of a dimension in which our counterpart has died.”

Jim rakes a hand through is hair, and drops his head; gripping until it stings. “He should have said something.”

“This message—”

“In person,” Jim just barely stops himself from snapping. “Sorry, I know it’s not your fault. I just...” He takes a slow breath, shakes his head. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

Spock offers his first two fingers, and it’s a relief, honestly, to accept. “As you said after his visit,” Spock reminds him quietly, “he is me. Your response is logical.”

Jim smiles. “Since when is being upset logical?”

“You are human, Jim.” He brings Jim’s hand up to kiss the fingertips. “If he does indeed know of a way to find another Jim Kirk, would you not prefer that to his being alone for another fifty years?”

Heat burns along Jim’s throat and he has to swallow twice before he can answer. “Of course I would.”

Spock steps in then, folds him into his arms. Jim lets out a shaky breath, wanting to believe more than anything that the other Spock knew what he was doing. That he’s not still so alone.

Jim kisses his Spock’s cheek, pulls him closer and is really just fucking grateful he gets to have this.


End file.
